


tfw you accidentally become emotionally attached to and irrationally protective of the dumb neighbor kid trying to buy pot from you

by presidenthomewrecker



Series: a series of unfortunately long fanfic titles [1]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Discussions of Ke$ha, Edgy Teenagers, Ernest is a little shit, Gen, Lucien is also a little shit, Non-specific Disney Movie, Platonic Relationships, Sneaking Snacks into Movie Theaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/presidenthomewrecker/pseuds/presidenthomewrecker
Summary: Lucien was just doing his job when this angry kid walked up to him and demanded pot, and the whole encounter was a close call.For a second there, Ernest almost got Lucien to care about him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i love my terrible sons and i want them to be best friends
> 
> i have no other excuse

“I wanna buy some of your weed.”

“Well, that’s one way to start a conversation.” Lucien sighs, looking the angry, acne-ridden mess of a kid standing in front of him. First of all, where the fuck are this kid’s parents, but more importantly, why did this idiot think he could just waltz up to people and demand weed?

Ernest rolls his eyes. “I’m not here for a lecture on manners. Just give me some weed.”

Lucien swallows back the remark on how clearly he needs them to address a more pressing issue. “I’m not selling weed to a fucking nine-year-old.”

Ernest’s face twists into a scowl, and he puffs his chest out indignantly. “I’m fourteen, you dickweed.”

Lucien scoffs. “Same difference, man.” He stares the twerp down, looking for an insecurity for him to hit on, when he realizes that the dunce looks familiar. Isn’t he Mr. Vega’s son? “Besides, I’m not selling weed to the teacher’s kid. You’re probably just trying to get me busted.” With a toss of his head, he turns his attention to his phone. Coffee Guy said he’d be here ten minutes ago, and still no sign of him. And here Lucien went to all the trouble of changing up his meet points to throw off the cops. That’s what he gets for being nice, he guesses.

Ernest pops directly into his line of sight, nearly knocking his phone out of his hand. He bares his teeth, as if that could make him look threatening under all that acne and baby fat. “Either you’re gonna sell me some, or I’m gonna kick your ass and take it by force.”

He can’t be serious. “You couldn’t kick my ass if you tried.”

“Try me.” Is it really necessary for him to get further in Lucien’s face as he says that? Does he think it’ll make him look more intimidating? Because the only thing intimidating about this kid is his breath. He must live off of Pizza Rolls.

With a roll of his eyes, Lucien pushes Ernest out of his face. “Yeah, I’m not exactly in the mood to get arrested over punching a toddler.”

Ernest stumbles back, and for a second, he looks like he’s about to come back swinging, but he quickly deflates.

Lucien deliberately turns away, but he still watches the kid out of the corner of his eye. He’s gone back to slouching, which can only mean one of two things: he’s giving up or he’s about to start begging. Lovely.

Ernest touches Lucien’s arm to get his attention. Once he has it, hescratches at the back of his neck and ducks his head. “Come on, man. I promised my friends I’d hook them up.”

Lucien, however, refuses to budge. Or even give eye contact, for that matter. “I’m sure if you show them your collection of Yu-Gi-Oh cards, they’ll be just as impressed.”

Ernest scowls again. It seems to be a well-crafted skill of his, only made stronger by his constant mood swings. “Yu-Gi-Oh went out of style, like, ten years ago, dude.”

Lucien rolls his eyes. “Go home, kid.”

He re-counts the cash, only half-listening to the grumbling Ernest is doing, when a large raindrop smacks him right in the forehead.

“Fuck.” Well, there goes the rest of his clientele for the day. But maybe it’s for the best. He’s almost out of oregano. “You’re still here?”

Ernest scowls—is that the only expression his face can make?—and tugs his hood further over his head, so his eyes are barely visible. The rain beats down on his head. “Don’t rush me, asshole.”

Lucien pockets his earnings and, much to his dismay, feels something inside of him soften. “You’re walking home?” Obnoxious little shit he is, Lucien’s dad taught him better than that.

“How’s a nine-year-old supposed to drive?” Ernest mocks.

Lucien swats the back of his head as he walks by. “Be less of a dick or you’re walking home in the rain.”

That shuts him right up.

Ernest trails silently behind Lucien, slouching into the passenger seat and disregarding his driver completely.

Lucien plugs his auxiliary into his phone, gearing up his playlist and his car gets going. Even with his weed sales on the side, he was only able afford the least functioning car he’s even seen in his life. It takes it a while to get going, and actual heat takes even longer, so he’s more than happy to sit there for a minute or two while he queues up his jams.

Fuck what anyone else says. Ke$ha’s the bomb.

Ernest makes no comment about the music playing, probably because he knows he’d get kicked out if he did, and that’s fine by Lucien. The little twerp is a lot easier to like when he’s not talking anyway.

After the _iconic_ “Tik Tok” closes, Lucien glances over to see Ernest bopping his head to the beat of Ke$ha’s “Backstabber.” Lucien grins.

“Dare I say I’ve created another Ke$ha fan?”

Ernest scoffs, actually bothering to look over at Lucien. “I was already a fan, dumbass.”

“Let me guess. Her comeback album was so great, right?”

“Um, duh? But I’ve loved her since _Animal_.”

“Not everyone appreciates her early work.” Lucien raises a brow, impressed. “I would’ve never guessed.”

“And I would’ve never guessed you listened to anything besides Blood on the Dancefloor.”

“I should kick you out just for that.” Lucien slams on the brakes, bringing his car to an ungraceful halt. “In fact, get out.”

Ernest’s eyes widen for just a second, before he turns and realizes they’re parked in front of his house. “Oh, fuck you.” The faintest bit of a smirk plays on his lips. “Thanks for the ride.” Ernest grumbles, but as he goes to open his door, he finds it locked.

Lucien looks less than impressed. “Empty the hoodie, peach fuzz.”

Ernest’s frown deepens to epic proportions largely unseen by today’s world as he reaches into his pocket and removes the dime bag of pot. Without a word, he reaches for the door again, but Lucien stops him cold by yanking back his hoodie.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Ernest screeches.

Lucien holds up the second dime bag with a grin. “I’d say that was smart if you weren’t such a dumbass.”

Ernest scowls.

“Now get out of my car, idiot.” Lucien says with a smile, and even though his own house is barely twenty feet away, slams the gas to make a hasty exit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lucien invites ernest to join his friend group at the movies
> 
> only because they need to sneak junk food in
> 
> not because he cares about ernest or anything
> 
> nope

To put it gently, Ernest’s friends were…less than happy when he showed up at school empty-handed.

To put it bluntly, they basically all fucking hate him now.

He’s officially taken Scott’s place as the group’s target of scorn. It’s a feat, especially since Scott can’t refrain from saying something stupid every fifteen or so minutes, that they haven’t got tired of almost constant throwing anything from passive-aggressive jabs to outright insults in Ernest’s direction.

Needless to say, he’s not getting invited to any parties or trips to the mall anytime soon.

He hasn’t left his room all day, staring at the dim light of his laptop, but nothing has been able to stop him from feeling like complete and utter shit.

Why did that Bloodmarch kid have to be such a prick?

He almost jumps out of his skin when his phone goes off.

Even more shocking, it’s a text. He doesn’t recognize the number, and it’s not saved in his contacts, but he opens it regardless.

“Hey u fucken loser,” the text reads. “I’m parked in ur driveway get the fuck out here.” Ernest furrows his brow, but the majority of his questions are answered by the follow-up text that comes a moment later. “It’s Lucien.”

Ernest peeks out his window to see the goth prince himself waiting outside. Lucien glances up from his phone and gives a cheeky finger wave.

Ernest flips him off in response.

Not to say that he doesn’t go downstairs. Because what else is he gonna do?

“What the fuck do you want?” Ernest asks.

With a smirk, Lucien answers, “Get in, loser, we’re going to the movies.”

Ernest glances around, checking the car and nearby foliage for teenagers waiting to jump out and scream, “Surprise! It’s a prank! You’re a fucking idiot, Ernest!” Well, he couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. “Are you serious?”

“Well, yeah. William canceled on us last minute, and we already bought his ticket.”

Then again, no matter how disinterested he acts, Lucien’s bad at hiding things. If he were planning something, he’d probably be smirking by now. Ernest stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Okay, but why me?”

 “We need someone good at smuggling shit with a lot of hoodie space to sneak in extra snacks.”

So that was it. Ernest scoffs. “I’m honored.”

“Do you wanna go or not?”

“It’s not like I have anything better to do.” Ernest grumbles. “My friends are pissed at me because of you.”

“It’s not my fault you’ve got the baby face of a narc.” Lucien jumps in and starts the car. “Now get in the car before I change my mind.”

“Whatever.” Ernest hops in, glad to hear Ke$ha still blasting from the speakers.

Lucien points to the bag of snacks at Ernest’s feet. “There are the snacks.”

Ernest gives the stash a preliminary look. There are a couple packets of M&M’s, five sodas, Kit Kats, at least ten Hershey’s bars, and more Twizzler’s than he knows what to do with. Thank God Lucien’s friends aren’t the type of idiots that try to sneak in chips.

“Think you can manage?”

Ernest scoffs. “Dude, I could smuggle this shit in my sleep. I thought you were at least gonna give me a challenge.” He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

By the time they arrive at the theater, Lucien’s already gotten five “get ur ass in here already” texts, so they rush as much as possible without giving away the mass amount of junk food Ernest is hiding under his hoodie.

A group of three teenagers is clustered in the back of the theater. On the assumption that they also look like they’ve been vomited out by Hot Topic, Ernest makes a beeline for them.

At the sight of Ernest, they’ve got their “I _so_ don’t care, but why are you even _near_ us” eyes ready and waiting until they see Lucien standing behind him.

“Hey, guys.” He gestures to Ernest. “This is Ernest. He’s cool.”

“He’s, like, _eleven_.” One girl points out. She’s wearing flannel and oversized, ripped-to-hell-and-back jeans, so she looks like 90s grunge thoroughly chewed her up before spitting her out directly into her seat.

Lucien sits beside grungy girl, leaving Ernest no choice but to sit on his other side. He leans forward, almost protectively. “Yeah, but he’s cool.”

One girl, whose got purple streaks in her hair and a nose piercing, shrugs. “If Lucien says he’s cool, then he’s cool.”

The guy sitting beside her, who barely looks like could belong to this group on his angstiest day, nods. Okay, maybe if you shoved him into a group of nerds or preps, he’d stand out, but up against the undercuts and facial piercings, the black jacket and gray t-shirt aren’t cutting it.

Ernest wastes no time getting out the sodas in his sleeves. It was a bitch holding them still and now his arms are freezing because of it. He holds each soda out until someone takes it from him, and by the time his sleeves are empty, he’s left with a single can of Dr. Pepper.

The girl with purple streaks grins. “Nice work, kid. Lucien, I never should’ve doubted you.”

“Yeah, just don’t forget that I get to pick the next movie,” he reminds her.

She rolls her eyes. “Lucien, we all know how much you hate Disney, but there was literally nothing else to choose from.”

Ernest wrinkles his nose. Disney? And here he thought he was getting a free ticket to a cool action movie or something. Something that would make Hugo freak out if he knew. Not _Disney_.

“Callie literally held me down until I promised we’d see this movie.” Barely-a-goth guy adds. He rolls up his pant legs. He has a bag of Cheese Nips strapped to each ankle with elastic book bands. He’s even hiding a container of Pringles in one of his sleeves. Impressive.

“Even my horror standards aren’t low enough to watch the movie about the haunted smartphone.” Callie opens her small handbag, revealing it to be completely full of Cheetos.  

“And we all know how Mandy’s been dying to see this.” Lucien adds.

Grungy Mandy flushes from behind her Diet Coke. “Disney’s a soul-sucking corporation, but their movies are bomb, okay? So let’s all just shrink into the chains of capitalism for ninety minutes while I stuff my face with whatever-the-fuck kinda preservatives they put in Twizzlers.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a package of Twizzlers.

Ernest nudges Lucien. “These can’t all be hers.” Because there were, like, a dozen packages of Twizzlers under his hoodie right now.

Lucien smirks. “Well, you haven’t seen Mandy caught up in the spectacle of a kid’s flick. She eats non-stop.” He removes his own box of Milk Duds from one of his many pockets. “I suggest you hand them over while you still have the chance.”

Ernest does so, but only because Mandy clears the two packages she smuggled before the previews even start. Barely-a-goth guy, who’s name turns out to be David, asks for the M&M’s, but after that, no one bothers him for snacks. He can only guess that means the rest is up for grabs.

He fishes out a Hershey bar. Most of them fit in his front pocket, but he had to stash a couple under his shirt. And surely no one would want those. But before he even gets the chance to open it, the chocolate bar is plucked from his hands.

Ernest glares from the corner of his eye. “Uh, no. Fuck you, the chocolate’s mine.”

Ernest glares right back. “Uh, no. Fuck you, I deserve something for being your walking pantry.”

“You’re getting a free movie and something to do. _And_ you got William’s soda of choice. That’s a more than fair trade.”

With a grumble, Ernest flops back into his seat. The logos have finally finished up, and he’s here anyway. Might as well watch the movie.

The main story is okay, but what really gets him is the romantic subplot. It’s surprisingly complex for a baby movie, so by the climax it’s no surprise that he’s crying.

Ernest tries to keep his sniffling to a minimum. His own friend group is used to this by now, but he’ll be damned before he makes himself look bad in front of a group of high schoolers. He can’t help himself for too long, though. When the two heroes are reunited, he can’t stop the sob that comes out.

And of course Lucien is on that in a second. Lucien leans forward, eyes widening as he catches Ernest’s tear-stained face. “Oh my fucking God, are you _crying_?” He’s keeping his voice low, but it’s hard not to hear the absolute glee in his tone.

“Shut the fuck up.” Ernest sobs through gritted teeth.

“Wow. I’m impressed you have emotions other than anger.” Lucien leans over, resting his elbow on Ernest’s shoulder. He holds up a Hershey bar. “Here. You’ve earned it.”

“I don’t want your stupid chocolate.”

Lucien waves it under Ernest’s nose. “Oh, come on. It’s the ideal crying food.”

With a sniffle and a glare, Ernest snatches the chocolate bar out of Lucien’s hand. He’d love to continue glowering, but he’s already missed enough dialogue as is, so he turns his attention back to the movie and doesn’t acknowledge the pack of tissues Lucien drops in his lap.

Thankfully, his eyes are dry by the time the movie ends, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Mandy’s sobbing in her seat even as the lights come up.

“Callie, why did you let me watch this?” Mandy asks as they file out of their seats.

With a smirk, Callie wraps her arm around Mandy. “’Cause I thought it’d be funny.”

“Here. I saved this.” Ernest hands her a pack of Twizzlers, and Mandy’s eyes light up like he’s giving her the key to the universe.

“Bless your soul, sweet bean,” she sniffles.

They empty out their mass number of wrappers and empty soda cans in the nearest trash can, and while the worker gives them a brief look of disapproval, he’s obviously too dead inside to really care.

“Alright, little dude, you definitely gotta hang with us again.” Callie says as they all head outside. “You vape?”

Ernest smirks. “Duh.”

Her face breaks into a huge grin. “Hell yeah, man. Catch you around. See ya at school, Luce.” She, Mandy, and David all pile into her Jeep, but she stays idling until Lucien puts his car into drive.

Lucien smirks. “Kudos for not making a total ass at of yourself.”

“I mean, since you have the market cornered.”

“You wanna walk home?”

“I still have four of your Hershey bars.” Ernest warns.

Lucien chuckles. “Fair enough.” There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again. “So your friends are being shitty, huh?”

“Well, yeah, I told them I’d score them pot and couldn’t.”

“And that gives them license to douche?”

Ernest shrugs. From the one glance Lucien can sneak, his face is steely and unreadable. “It’s whatever.”

Maybe that’s not the best thing to push about right now. “Alright.” Lucien lets the subject drop and begins blasting Ke$ha to fill the silence.

When they arrive at Ernest’s, Lucien gets out with Ernest.

Ernest eyes him warily. “What are you doing?”

Lucien smirks and, with a toss of his hair, answers, “Wouldn’t want you to get lost on the way to your door.”

“Oh, ha-ha.” While his face is pulled into a frown, Ernest still doesn’t do anything to stop Lucien.

They barely make it two steps before Hugo throws open the front door.

“Ernest Hemmingway Vega!” he scolds. “Where in the world have you been?”

Ernest sighs. “It’s no big deal, Hugo. I just went to see a movie.”

Like any of what he said could calm Hugo right now. “And you thought it was a good idea to leave without telling me? How’d you even get there?”

Ernest jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “This guy.”

Hugo looks startled, but he makes a quick recovery. “Hello, Lucien. Any progress on the book report that’s done next week?”

“You don’t really wanna know the answer, Mr. Vega.”

Hugo chuckles. “You’re probably right. Would you like to come in?”

Ernest’s face goes dark, but he doesn’t do anything more than glower.

“Actually…” Lucien trails off.

The sound of a stampede echoes down the stairs, and a dog the size of a fucking bear rounds the corner. Lucien can’t even voice his surprise before Ernest is being tackled to the floor.

And Ernest _laughs_ about it.

“Hi, Dutchess.” Ernest croons as the bear-sized dog laps at his cheek. “I know. I took off without you. I’m sorry.”

“He cares more about the dog’s feelings than mine.” Hugo chuckles, but it’s hard to ignore the clear sadness in his voice.  

Lucien sneezes, and he thanks his lucky stars he has an out. “Um, my allergies…” He gestures vaguely. “I gotta go.”

Ernest glances up from snuggling his dog. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, I’m just allergic to dogs.” He pauses to think. “And gremlins, but I’m starting to build an immunity from being around you so much.”

“My dog will eat you.” Ernest warns.

Dutchess barks in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl that cheetos gag was probably my magnum opus


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for some angst
> 
> choo choo motherfucker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also damien is a fucking bean

If Lucien knew the kind of night he was going to have, he wouldn’t have taken a nap.

Lucien starts awake at four-thirty p.m. and groans at the numbers on the digital clock. All he’d wanted was a twenty-minute nap so he could pretend to focus on homework, but now he feels more tired than when he went to sleep.

Great start.

Maybe if he stares at his phone long enough, the eye-damaging level of brightness in a dimly lit room will force him into consciousness. Now where did that thing go? He vividly remembers having it right next to his face before he passed out.

Lucien throws an arm over the edge of his bed, blindly feeling around until his fingers brush over the plastic surface of his phone case. He lays his phone on its side, inches from his face, and lets the blue light burn into his pupils.

When his eyes shift back into focus, he finds five new texts, with about three minutes of space between each.

“Hey weird question but can I come over??”

“Too late.”

“Let me in.”

“Nvm your dad let me in.”

“Open your door.”

Lucien squints. Who the hell is “Smol Orange Hulk”? He’s still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he scrolls through their previous texts. Oh. Ernest. That’s Ernest.

A sixth text notification pops up. “Let me in fucker.”

“Charming as ever,” Lucien mumbles as he rolls out of bed. His phone vibrates with what’s presumably a seventh text, but Lucien doesn’t bother reading it.

Lucien opens his door to find Ernest standing in the hallway, absently munching on a granola bar. He’s not wearing his usual hoodie, and his eyes look a little puffy, but Lucien can’t decide if Ernest has been crying or if he’s just jumping to conclusions.

Ernest falters under the scrutiny. “Your dad asked if I wanted a snack,” he explains, as if him eating is the only point of concern here. “I said no, but he still gave me this granola bar.”

Lucien chuckles. “Yeah. He’ll do that.” He pauses to mop a hand over his face. He’s still not one hundred percent awake. “What do you want, peach fuzz?”

Ernest drops his eyes to the floor. “It’s a long story.”

Lucien hesitates, giving Ernest a once-over before letting the subject drop. “Fair enough.”

“It’s a long story” commonly translates to “I don’t want to talk to you about it at all” in angsty middle schooler, and he doesn’t even want to try pushing. Ernest coming to his house was telling enough. Even so, he just knows it must have something to do with those terrible friends Ernest has.

Lucien can’t resist playing with Ernest’s curls as he walks in. “And here I thought I’d never see the top of your head.”

Ernest bats his hand away. “Would you rather I show up here covered in dog hair?”

“I’d rather you not show up uninvited.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad.” Ernest grumbles, though it’s hard for him to cover up how his eyes widened and flashed with hurt when Lucien said that. He goes back to staring at his shoes. “I’m only staying here until Dad shows up.”

Lucien scoffs. “Since when did Mr. Vega decide you needed a babysitter?”

Ernest rolls his eyes. “Not Hugo. My _actual_ dad.” He takes his phone out of his front pocket and begins scrolling.

“What?”

“My parents got divorced, dumbass.” Ernest doesn’t look up from his phone as he types out a text. “My real dad only gets me on the weekends.”

Lucien furrows his brow. “Does Mr. Vega know about this?”

“Are you stupid? Of course not.”

That doesn’t bode well, especially not after what Lucien saw of their relationship last night. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah. Hugo’s an asshole.” Ernest pauses to roll his eyes. “But that’s not anything new, dude.”

Lucien’s frown deepens, which Ernest notices for a second before disregarding completely. Perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea, since he doesn’t register Lucien’s movements until the phone is snatched right out of his hands.

“ _Hey!_ ”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Give me back my phone!” Ernest hops out of his seat, but Lucien holds the phone high out of his grasp. No matter how high he jumps, Lucien tugs it just out of his reach. “You tall-ass motherfucker, give it back!”

“I don’t have to listen to you.” Lucien sneers. He hates to admit that he might be having the slightest bit of fun watching Ernest struggle. “Besides, have you even thought about how shitty it is to run away? How worried Mr. Vega will be?”

Ernest stops jumping for his phone to fold his arms and pout. “Yeah, whatever. He’s lame and hates me having fun. Might as well run away so we can both be happy.”

Lucien frowns. His expression is steeled, and Ernest can’t quite read what he’s feeling. He doesn’t even notice Lucien scooping him up before it’s too late.

“What _the fuck_ are you doing?” He squirms against the hold, but Lucien is surprisingly strong. He’s built like an emo anemic piece of shit straight out of a teen vampire movie, but he can lift and move Ernest like it’s nothing.

He’s halfway into the living room by the time that Ernest even gains traction on getting free, and by then, it’s all over.

“ _Daaaad_!” Lucien yells.

Damien’s head pops out from the kitchen. “Yes, son?” Damien’s face falls as he takes notice of Ernest struggling against Lucien’s hold. “Is this some kind of new trend?”

Lucien gives the tiniest chuckle before answering. “No, Dad. Just a runaway.”

Damien tilts his head. “Is it running away if he just lives next door?”

“He was trying to call his other dad to take him.” Lucien explains. “ _Without_ telling Mr. Vega.”

Damien raises his brows. “Oh.”

Ernest cringes. Great. Here comes the lecture.

“Ernest, would you like to join me in the sitting room? I could make us some hot chocolate.”

Ernest starts. Well that was…different. “Sure…” he grumbles, and he practically feel Lucien’s reluctance as he lowers Ernest onto his feet.

With a smile, Damien gestures to the couch. Like everything else in this weird house, it looks like it was spat out of a Bronte sister’s novel. Ernest sits in the middle, giving him space to scoot away no matter where Damien decides to sit.

Unfortunately, all that ends up getting him is a Bloodmarch on either side.

“So tell me about your parents, Ernest." Damien begins.

“They’re divorced.” Starting off slow, huh? That’s fine. Joseph tries to use tricks like that on him all the time, and they never work. “My dad only gets me on weekends.”

Damien nods. “I see.”

Ernest makes the mistake of glancing up and meeting eyes. The cogs in Damien’s head are visibly turning. He drops his gaze back into his lap.

“Did something happen to make you want to visit your other father on a Wednesday, then?”

Ernest grits his teeth. “I said I don’t wanna talk about it.” He doesn’t even give Lucien the satisfaction of eye contact, but he better know Ernest is glaring at him in spirit.

“That’s fine.” How can Damien keep his voice even like that? Where’s the pushback? The “watch your tone”? “We don’t have to talk about it. However, don’t you think it might unnecessarily worry your father if you run off without telling him?”

“Whatever. Hugo doesn’t even want me.” Ernest folds his arms and ducks his head. It’s muscle memory for him to shrink into his hoodie even when there’s no hoodie to shrink into. “He got stuck with me because Dad wanted to travel without a whiny fucking kid with him.”

Damien leans forward. “And you’re angry because of this?”

Ernest quirks his mouth, like he’s been caught, and backpedals. “I mean, he brings me cool stuff and we go to amusement parks and stuff on the weekends.” He shifts his gaze but still refuses to look in anyone’s general direction. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.” Damien interjects. “It sounds like you feel unwanted, and that your love is being bought.”

Ernest clenches his fists. There it is again, that feeling of being backed into a corner. Why did _anyone_ have the nerve to think they could understand? So, with all the rage burning in his angsty teenage body, he scowls at Damien and growls, “What are you, a fucking psychiatrist?”

Damien only raises an eyebrow— _is it not even worth a reaction?_ —at his outburst. “No, but I did minor in psychology in college.”

Ernest flops back against the couch, arms folded. He digs his fingernails into his arms. “That’s so fucking stupid. What would I even be angry about?” Come on, at least reprimand him for cursing. Give him something to distract him before everything comes tumbling out. “It’s not like I even care that I’m stuck with Hugo while Dad gets to go have fun, or that he’s been so busy with work that I didn’t even get to talk to him! It’s not like I spent my Saturday fucking night crying because he canceled on me!” Too late. And now his cheeks are wet.

“Dude…” He can barely glance in Lucien’s direction before the emo fuck is scooping him up into a hug.

“Let go of me, asshole!” Ernest snarls, but it’s only a few seconds before Damien is also wrapping him in a hug, and that’s about when the dam bursts and he’s left sobbing into the chest of a man he barely knows.

“Dear, sweet Ernest.” Damien croons. His voice is deep and warm, and his chest rumbles as he talks.

Ernest doesn’t have the energy to point out that he’s the furthest thing from “dear” or “sweet,” so he just sits there and lets the words wash over him.

“It’s okay to feel upset over this. You feel left out, isolated, and it’s something you need to talk with your fathers about. There’s no reason to feel angry or ashamed of yourself for feeling this way, and it’s perfectly okay to cry.”

Bullshit, but he’s crying too hard to speak. He’s devolved into that terrible ugly-crying stage where snot’s going fucking everywhere and every breath he tries to take comes out shuddery and weak.

“And you definitely need to speak with Hugo instead of running away from him.” From behind a sheen of tears, Ernest can see Damien’s face turn from comforting to serious. “Do you feel scared to talk with him, Ernest? Do you not feel safe confronting him alone? I’d be more than willing to act as a moderator if that’s the case.”

Ernest shakes his head. Is Damien really asking if Hugo hits him? God, Hugo can chokeslam with the best of them, but Ernest never once feared Hugo using something like that on him. That’s just…not Hugo.

Damien seems to relax at the sound of that. “Good.” He runs a hand through Ernest’s curls. “I’ll be right back.” He stands and walks away, his cape fluttering behind him. Ernest feels too numb to do anything other than watch him leave.

Lucien rests his cheek against Ernest’s head, and Ernest doesn’t have the will to push him away.

“I’m sorry that your dad is, like, an asshole.”

Ernest doesn’t answer, but Lucien acts like he does.

“It’s okay. I’ll put a dead rat in his desk.” He pauses. “Wanna talk about it now that Dad’s gone?”

“No.”

“Will you do it anyway?”

He doesn’t really have a choice, does he? Not if he wants to keep Damien from knowing what a bad kid he is. At least Lucien can keep a secret. “We got into a fight last night.” Ernest admits, his voice quiet and shaky. He sounds like a different person entirely. “He was mad because I left without telling him, and we got into a screaming match that ending with him grounding me. We got into another fight today so I came here.”

“Uh-huh.” Lucien says, like he expects Ernest to continue.

And despite his better judgment, he does. “He’s always lecturing me about how he expects more from me. That he wants me to do better. He just doesn’t get that I’m a fuck-up. No matter what, I do something wrong. And he hates me for it. He wants me to be someone else. Someone that isn’t a loser or a terrible son.” He lets the words hang, trying to get the slightest control over his breathing before going on. “Dad gets it. He knows I’m destined for nothing, and he doesn’t care. Hanging out with him doesn’t turn into a fucking teaching lesson every time.”

 Lucien makes a noncommittal noise. “You can share my dad,” he offers. “He makes really good pasta.”

“I don’t want your dad.”

“It’s too late, man. He’s already adopted you. He does this with all my friends.” He silently rubs a hand up and down Ernest’s shoulder, and there’s a long pause before he speaks again. “You’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t even realize Damien has returned until the couch depresses beside him and a steaming mug is pressed into his hands. Damien’s overly large hand weaves into his hair, probably to help lessen the blow of what he says next. “I called your father. He’ll be here soon.” A knock reverberates through the house. “Or now. He could be here now.” But before getting up, he hooks a finger under Ernest’s chin. “Now, Ernest, I want you to know that everything you told us is only between the three of us. I won’t say anything to your father unless you want me to. Understand?”

Ernest nods.

“Good.”

Damien leaves, and Lucien tightens his hold. “Drink your cocoa. Dad made that for you special. Appreciate it.”

Ernest takes a half-hearted sip. There’s a hint of peppermint mixed in, which would probably be amazing if he didn’t feel so sick to his stomach.

Hugo storms in not long after. “Ernest Hemingway Vega, what were you think—” All words fall from Hugo’s mouth as he sees his son’s puffy eyes and wobbling chin. Even taking into account one of his students protectively holding Ernest and glaring at Hugo like he was the scum of the earth, it was possibly the most jarring thing for him to walk into. “Ernest, I…” He trails off, unsure of what else to say.

Ernest shrugs off Lucien’s hold. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going home.” He tries to keep his head down, but he finds that he can’t completely ignore Damien as he walks by. He holds up the mug. “Sorry I didn’t drink that much. It was really good, though, so thanks.”

Damien does his best to offer a smile. “Take the mug with you. I know you’re good for it.”

“Oh.” Ernest takes a small step back. “Okay. Thanks.” He knows he’s being weird and awkward, but he can’t bring himself to look at Hugo on his way out.

As the large door shuts behind him, Hugo looks to Damien. He looks lost, so pathetically lost, but he still puts on a brave face. “Thank you, Damien, for telling me about Ernest.”

Damien nods. “Of course, Hugo.”

Hugo gives a wave, but it’s clear he’s not sure what to do or say in this sort of situation. “I’ll just go…uh, thanks again.” He lets himself out, and Damien takes the time to sigh.

This won’t be the last time he gets involved, he’s sure.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey lucien can u just say what u mean?

Damien should’ve gone to bed hours ago.

It started with him typing a quick message to Hugo on Dadbook, asking if Ernest was okay. What it became was an hours long chat where they shared stories of their kids. For Hugo, it was clearly a distraction to keep himself from worrying, and Damien was more than happy to oblige.

Asking about Ernest began with a response of “He didn’t want to talk. I didn’t make him,” and ended with

 “I’m just glad he’s getting some rest.” Attached to that message is a picture of Ernest. His eyes are still puffy, and even in his sleep, he looks troubled, but Duchess is curled up around him.

Damien’s torn away from his computer screen by the sound of footsteps.

“Lucien?”

The footsteps halt. “Hey, Dad.”

“What are you doing up?”

Lucien walks into the living room, a plate of toast in hand. “Just getting a snack.”

Damien furrows his brow and pats the spot beside him. “What’s the matter, love? You don’t make 3 a.m. toast unless you’re upset.”

“I just had a light dinner.” Lucien keeps his eyes downcast as he sits. He’s never been that good of a liar.

“You’re worrying about Ernest, aren’t you?”

Lucien scoffs. “Why would I care about that little twerp? I only felt bad because he started crying.”

“Then I suppose you wouldn’t be interested in knowing how he is? I’m talking with his father on Dadbook.”

“I mean…since I’m already here.” Lucien shrugs. He folds his arms and leans back, but it’s clear as day that he’s trying to peek over Damien’s shoulder.

Damien chuckles. “Even though you don’t care, he’s sleeping now.”

“Good. Big baby needs his rest.”

Damien rolls his eyes. Why those two can’t just say they’re friends and care about one another, he’ll never know. “And how are _you_ feeling about all of this?”

Lucien sinks down into the couch. Thank God he’s done trying to keep up his goofy tough punk persona. He’s soft punk and everyone knows it. “I’m just…pissed.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t know. It’s…How can Mr. Vega just, like, not fucking care about his son?”

“Now, Lucien.” Damien warns.

“Am I wrong? Ernest was crying and it was all his fault.”

“Neither of us really have a way of knowing if that’s true or not.”

“Well, someone’s being shitty to Ernest and I need to kick their asses.”

“I don’t think any ass-kicking needs to be done. It’s merely a set of unfortunate circumstances.”

While Lucien doesn’t respond verbally, the half-disgust, half-disbelief expression painted over his face speaks volumes.

“People don’t always see the truth, Lucien.” Damien continues. “It may be that Ernest’s father only spends time with him out of obligation, and that Hugo is more than tired of his antics. Or maybe Ernest acts out for attention and his fathers are both stressed from demanding jobs. The only way he can know is talking to them.”

That did make a lot of sense, actually. But still, it sucked that Ernest felt that way. No one deserved to feel unwanted. “I guess so. I’m still gonna kick someone’s ass, though.”

“As long as you know you can win.”

Lucien cringes as his dad presses a kiss to his brow, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Now get some rest.” Damien says. “You have school in the morning.

“Yup.” Lucien gives his dad a hug before heading upstairs. “Thanks, Dad.”

While he doesn’t get to sleep right away, he manages eventually. And when morning comes, he’s greeted with a single text message.

“Fux you for making me feel feelings.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ernest has a weird day that quickly turns into a bad day

Lucien’s acting weird.

Well.

Weirder than normal.

He didn’t reply to Ernest’s text, but he did send his own text at about ten. Ernest almost got caught with his phone in class because of how obviously he was gawking.

“Daily reminder that ur friends are fucken trash.”

Who even sends something like that?

And why was it even his concern?

Ernest tries not to think about how this is the same guy who watched him have a meltdown because Daddy didn’t love him enough, or how this is all a pity party or a setup.

Things only get weirder when Ernest is at his locker in between third and fourth period. Here he is minding his own business, when someone wraps their arms around his shoulders and _hugs him_. He’s got his swinging elbows ready when something gives him pause. He knows that nail polish.

“Let go of me, douchecanoe!”

“Just gotta make sure you’re okay.” Lucien says. “Don’t want you to start sobbing in the middle of the hallway or anything.”

Ernest shrugs him off. “Fuck off.”

“Yo, are we hugging Ernest right now?” Mandy then appears out of _nowhere_ to crouch and wrap Ernest in a hug. “ _Ugh_ , what a bean,” she says, nuzzling her face against his.

“What did you tell them?” Ernest growls.

“What? We can’t want to just hug our boy?” When did Callie get here? He glances up to realize that he’s surrounded by tall goths. He notices Danny in the back, and the other guy must be William, who looks like he has no idea what’s going on but also really loves hugs.

He can’t help but notice Lucien didn’t answer.

Someone throws a pack of Twizzlers into his face before lunch, and while he can’t directly link that to Lucien, who else would be throwing candy at a middle schooler at this time of year?

At home, it gets even weirder.

A plate of Pizza Rolls—and the right brand, he must add—are sitting on the counter.

“Hugo?” Is this gonna be his way of trying to fix things up? With Pizza Rolls? And doesn’t he have to stay at the school until four anyway? He glances around, searching for an ambush as he takes a bite.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Ernest spins. “Dad!” Ernest drops his backpack and jumps into his dad’s arms.

Paul grunts on impact. He’s not as strong as Hugo, but he can still support Ernest’s weight if he tries. “Good to see you, too.”

“Yeah, thanks for ditching me, asshole.” Ernest hops down and grins, and Paul grins right back.

“I’m sorry, but the dumb people at work needed me. If I could quit my job, I would, but amusement park tickets aren’t free.”

Ernest gapes. “No.”

Paul shrugs, but the wide smile gives him away. “Maybe.”

The noise finally waking her from napping on Ernest’s bed, Duchess bounds downstairs. She goes straight for Ernest, but only has time to give him a single, slobbery kiss before moving on to Paul.

“Who’s this?” Paul smiles down at the gigantic dog investigating the smells on his pant leg.

“That’s Duchess.” Ernest crouches to pet her. “We got her from the shelter a while back.”

Paul holds out his hand, and Duchess gives it an enthusiastic sniff. "Nice to meet you, Duchess."

Duchess laps his fingers, causing Paul to laugh.

“Ernest!” Hugo calls. “My meeting got cancelled. Would you want to get dinner somewhere?” His messenger bag hits the floor with a thump. “Ernest?”

“In here.” Ernest answers, his voice a little smaller than he wanted it to be. Duchess nuzzles against his side.

“Oh, well—Paul?” Hugo stops dead in his tracks. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d spend time with my kid, since I was busy this weekend.” He claps Ernest on the shoulder. “Go get your bag.”

Ernest nods and heads upstairs.

And once he’s out of earshot, Hugo gives a heavy sigh. “You just had to show up, didn’t you? You know you don’t have the right to take him, but I don’t want to turn this into a legal battle again. Please. For Ernest’s sake.”

Not that Paul cared, but he couldn’t help picking up the note of exhaustion in Hugo’s voice. Only because it concerned Ernest. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Ernest isn’t having the easiest time right now.”

Paul locks his stance. Why does he always have to move like he’s gearing up for a fight? “Are you saying I can’t see him?”

“I’m saying be gentle with him.”

With a chuckle, Paul shakes his head. “Good to know you haven’t changed. Still having everyone tiptoe around your mistakes. Great.”

Hugo refrains from rolling his eyes. “I know this may shock you since you’ve never been around one for more than a few days, but teenagers are emotional. Their bodies are going crazy and we put them under insurmountable amounts of stress and tell them not to act out. So if you could can your ‘don’t be such a baby’ crap for a _day_ , that’d be great.”

Ernest creeps down the stairs. He waits on the third stair, the furthest down you can be without someone in the living room seeing you, and listens.

Hugo sighs. “Look. I don’t want to fight, okay? All I ask is that you aren’t too harsh with him and that you don’t push.”

There’s a long, long pause. Ernest doesn’t even have to imagine. Paul is doing his quiet sigh before shifting his weight. He widens his stance, like he’s ready for a physical confrontation when he’s planning on going for Hugo’s self-esteem instead.

“Good to know you’re just as shitty of a parent as you always were. Now I have to come in and fix things.”

There it is.

The tension in the room sparks to life, roaring with intensity. Like a fire, it burns up all the oxygen in the room, until Ernest can’t breathe.

Duchess must sense his oncoming panic attack, because she pads over to Ernest and presses against his legs, creating a wall between him and his parents while also nudging him back up the stairs.

Ernest follows her lead, but in doing so makes a misstep and hits the fifth stair, which groans under pressure on the side rather than in the middle.

His dads stop immediately. He can hear their footsteps, but he has no way to make his feet move.

“Ernest?”

He has no idea how to respond. His voice will only come out strained. So he’s stuck, staring wide-eyed at his dads with pathetic tears dripping down his face.

What does someone even say in this situation? What do they do? Well, he doesn’t need another lecture from Hugo, and as much as he missed his dad, he _really_ doesn’t need a noogie and a “buck up” either.

He dashes upstairs and locks the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day? wow!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cuddle time motherfuckers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spot the heathers reference and win a prize

The fighting gets worse after that.

They’re keeping their voices low, but not low enough. Their voices waft upward, and no matter how Ernest tries, he can’t block them out.

“Why the fuck is my son crying and what are you gonna do to fix it?” Paul growls.

“Paul, you always do this! You think that everything can be fixed with a snap of your fingers! I don’t work that way. _Ernest_ doesn’t work that way!”

“Well, it’s not my fault you’re incompetent. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Hugo sighs. “He needs someone to listen to him. Based on your track record, you wouldn’t exactly be at the top of my list.”

It’s hard to feel anything more than a scared little seven-year-old, hiding upstairs as his parents get their last potshots before Paul finally moves out. The only thing that’s keeping him from totally checking out from the world is the mastiff stretched over his lap, licking one hand in a desperate attempt to keep him calm.

He’s not sure how much longer he can stand to stay here. He remembers Hugo hissing something about giving Ernest his space, and Ernest appreciates that a lot if he’s being honest, but even being in the same house is almost too much to handle.

He picks up his phone. Was it okay if he texted Lucien? Would that be weird? After all, last time he did that, it was an exhausting affair for everyone. Lucien probably wouldn’t want him back.

“ _Don’t you dare say that!_ ” Ernest has been trying to block out their conversation, but that was impossible to ignore. He jumps, the phone popping out of his hand for a brief second. Yeah, he can’t do this.

“Ugh their fighting again.” It’s perfect. Just bitchy enough to come across as whiny teenage complaining, but addressing enough of a problem that it might open the way for him to get an escape, or at the very least talk about it.

Lucien’s response is instant. “Who?”

“Hugo and my dad.”

“They fight like that a lot??” Then, barely a second later, “Are you okay?”

Paul raises his voice again, and Ernest’s breath catches in his throat, his thumbs trembling as he types out, “nah they used to fight like this all the time when I was little.”

“So like last week??” Before Ernest has the chance to get miffed, Lucien sends a second text. “Okay but really do you wanna hang out here? My dad’s making spaghetti with lots of oregano.”

Ernest hesitates. Was Lucien…was he really okay with this?

His eyes stray back to his bedroom door. It isn’t bad enough to get him running away, is it? If he could stick through this when he was a little kid, he could surely do it now.

However, when a bang reverberates through the house, he finds that no, he can’t.

“I…” “um….” “please.”

“Alright then get your ass over here.”

“I’m sorry, Duchess.” Ernest buries his face into her neck. “I’ll be back, though.” He tugs off his sweatshirt. “Here.” He places it beside her face, and she snuggles into the fabric. “I’m gonna sneak out the window, but you can open the door and leave when you get hungry, okay?”

Duchess huffs in response.

Ernest scratches behind her ears. “Okay.”

Sneaking out is no big deal. There’s a tree right by his window, and so long as he builds up enough momentum to reach the nearest branch below him, he can drop to the ground no problem.

Ernest only has to knock once before someone answers.

Damien smiles, almost like he’s actually happy to have a scowling hoodie gremlin at his door for the second day in a row. “Well, hello again, Ernest. Lucien’s in his room.”

“Thanks, Mr. Bloodmarch.”

Ernest heads upstairs into Lucien’s room. He’s reclining on his bed, so Ernest wastes no time flopping face-first into the empty space.

There’s a pause. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Fuck off.”

Lucien shrugs. “Fair enough.” He rolls off the bed and shuffles around. Something clicks, and Ke$ha plays softly in the background.

The bed depresses, and Ernest dares peeking out from under his hood. Lucien is lying beside him, chin propped on his fist. He’s staring off at the wall, brow furrowed.

“You know, my parents used to fight a lot too.”

Ernest keeps his face buried in his arms.

“My dad was a piece of work. I call him Asshole. Rather, I would, if he ever had more interaction than sending me an impersonal birthday card.”

There’s a pause, like maybe Lucien is waiting for Ernest to respond, before he continues. He swipes the hair out of his eyes.

“It was over the small things. Sometimes I think Asshole just got off on starting fights. I was only, like, three when my dad decided to come out as trans, and Asshole McGee wasn’t having it. He had this really violent episode…I don’t remember most of it. I just remember having to go to a speech therapist because I refused to talk. That, and my dad holding me. I don’t think I could forget seeing my dad so scared.”

Lucien’s head rests against Ernest’s shoulder.

“Yelling really freaks me out, too.”

Ernest doesn’t quite have the will to push him away, so he lets Lucien’s stay where he’s at. They’re quiet for a long, long while, the only sound in the room being that of Ke$ha singing about cannibalism. It’s peaceful.

Ernest’s phone then decides to explode with sound, causing Ernest to jolt. And despite having been knocked in the head, Lucien stays where he is.

Ernest frowns, staring at Paul’s name as his generic ringtone plays out. After that, Hugo’s name pops up. Ernest’s hands tremble around the phone, and that’s before the text messages have even started filtering in.

Lucien gently pries the phone from Ernest’s hands, before turning the thing off and dropping it in the closest drawer. “You don’t have to answer it, dumbass,” he says, but there’s an edge of gentleness in his voice. He sits beside Ernest, one arm draped over his shoulders, and the silence resumes.

Well, for the best of two seconds.

Then Lucien’s phone begins vibrating.

“It’s your dad.” Lucien informs him.

“Put it on speaker.” Ernest mumbles. He doesn’t lift his head from his arms.

Lucien answers with a disinterested, “What’s up?”

“Lucien?” Hugo asks.

“Uh…Ernest isn’t here right now.” He cringes as soon as the words are out of his mouth, solely because of how bad of a liar he is.

Hugo doesn’t buy it either. “I know good and well that he is. Listen, I don’t need him to come home if he doesn’t want to. Please just tell him that his father is gone and it’s safe to come back.”

“’Kay.”

“And…tell him I love him, and that he should come first. If he isn’t ready to come home yet, he doesn’t have to. And I’m sorry.”

Lucien glances over at Ernest. “You get all that?”

Ernest nods from his hiding space.

“Cool.” Lucien hangs up without another word and tosses his phone over his shoulder. “I’m allowed to do that. Mr. Vega already hates me.”

Ernest manages a weak laugh.

Lucien leans over him, wrapping his arms around Ernest’s shoulder and gently butting his head against Ernest’s. “You’ll be okay.”

Before he can even register movement, he has a sobbing Ernest hiding in his chest. His arms are tight around Lucien’s waist, almost like he’s afraid to lose him too.

Lucien wraps his arms around Ernest’s neck, resting his cheek on Ernest’s forehead. “You’ll be okay.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugo and Damien have a little chat.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Damien wasn’t sure who else he’d be expecting on his doorstep this late in the evening, but he’s relieved to find it’s Hugo. More so, he’s relieved that it’s Hugo without the ex-husband anywhere in sight.

Ernest didn’t tell him much, and neither did Lucien, but he knows a manipulator when he sees one.

He offers a smile. “I must agree that the circumstances are rather unfortunate.”

“I guessed that Ernest would want to spend the night here. I brought a change of clothes for him.” Hugo holds up the plastic bag. “I already washed everything, so you don’t have to worry about the dog hair. I know how Lucien’s allergies can be.”

“I see. And the cheese plate?”

Hugo cracks an awkward smile. “As thanks. For giving Ernest a place to run off to.”

Damien smiles back. “Many thanks. Please, sit.”

“Oh no. You don’t have to.”

“But of course I do. You’re my guest.” Damien sets the kettle on the stove and then sets two ornate teacups on the counter. His hands fidget with them, ensuring they’re perfectly aligned. When he speaks again, his voice is strained. “Hugo, I am very aware it’s not my place to say so, but I’m growing rather concerned about Ernest’s home life. It sounds like a rather…stressful environment for such a young teenager to be in.”

Hugo drops his eyes to his lap. “So he’s…told you things.”

“Some. Not much. Most of my concerns come from analyzing his behavior. More so than yesterday. I must confess my heart nearly broke when he flinched due to my dropping something.”

Hugo had to wince. “I had a feeling he’d be shaken up after…that.”

Damien settles into the chair beside Hugo. “While it very well might not be my place to say, it seems to be bothering you as well. I could lend an ear, if you so needed.”

Hugo wants to laugh, but looking at Damien, whose face is soft and sincere and _maybe actually caring_ , he finds his guts spilling out without his permission.

“It can never be easy, can it?” Hugo shakes his head. “…Paul is always looking for a fight.”

Damien’s face hardens. “I see.”

“He likes dealing with Ernest when it’s convenient for him. So he and Ernest are used to being happy and joking while I play the mean parent.” He sighs. “The last leg of our marriage was…rocky, to say the least. Everything was a fight. I would’ve been more than happy to just give him what he wanted and let everything settle, but it wasn’t about the money, or the possessions. It was control.” Hugo pauses. Damien pushes the plate of cheese over, and Hugo gratefully accepts.

“Ernest was…too young for it. Hell, I don’t think there’s an age old enough to see your parents getting divorced.”

Damien nods. “However, sometimes it is necessary.”

“Of course. I’m not saying I regret going through with it. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I knew it’d be only a matter of time before he hurt Ernest with his behavior. It just…” Hugo puts his head in his hands. “To quote one of my students, ‘it just fucking sucks.’”

Damien chuckles. “Quite the eloquent student you have.”

“I’ll tell Lucien you think so.”

“How am I not surprised?” Damien lets the smile slip away. “Though I am sorry you were left in such a predicament. It’s never easy to know what to do.”

“Thank you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was the breaking point?”

“It was…the drinking, mostly. He preferred to stay out with his bar friends more often than not. Other than that, he always had quite the temper. I don’t think he ever meant to fly off the handle, but that’s what happened. I tried my best to keep Ernest from ever having to see that.” Hugo cuts himself off there. Talking about his problems, saying them out loud, always makes them seem so insignificant, especially when it brings up Ernest. Maybe he’d be happier if Hugo hadn’t gone through with it.

“So I see.” Damien places his hand over Hugo’s, and Hugo glances up in sheer surprise. There’s a sense of solidarity in Damien’s eyes, like they’re sharing a secret. “You did what was right. Remember that. And don’t let anyone’s unkind words take that away from you.”

Hugo blinks. “Uh, thank you.”

Damien nods and gives his hand a small squeeze. From the look in his eyes, the quirk of his lips, it’s clear that he wants to say more, but he stands and attends to the teapot instead.

Hugo stares down at the table, debating whether or not to speak up again, when the creak of the stairs echoes down the hall. “Lucien?”

Lucien saunters in. Hugo can’t help but notice the way his eyes cut briefly to him before disregarding him completely. “Yeah, I’m just getting a snack.”

“Does Ernest want anything?”

“Dad, you’re not supposed to feed your Mogwai after midnight. Besides, he’s asleep.” Lucien retrieves a container of apple slices from the fridge. “Just so you know, he mumbles in his sleep and it legitimately terrifies me.”

“Roll him onto his back.” Hugo says. “He’ll stop.”

Lucien nods, not even looking in his direction.

Hugo sees that as his opportunity to continue. “Lucien, I’d like to thank you for everything you did today. I’m glad Ernest has you as a friend.”

Lucien’s face doesn’t change. He still looks as bored and uninterested as he did during class earlier today. “Yeah, so no offense or anything, but you need to keep that piece of shit asshole away from Ernest or he’s living here from now on.”

“Lucien!” Damien warns.

“What? He’s annoying as hell when he cries.” With a shrug and a toss of his head, he retreats upstairs.

As his footsteps fade, Damien offers Hugo a teacup. “I must apologize. Lucien has a rather…odd way of showing his affection. But he is genuinely worried for Ernest’s well-being.” Damien pauses to roll his eyes and sits. “Though why the words ‘I care about you’ are so impossible to say is beyond me.”

Hugo chuckles. “Ernest is the same way.”

“Such is the way of teenagers.”

“I’m just glad Ernest has someone his own age.”

Damien raises his brows and sits a little straighter in his chair. “Does he not have classmates he associates with?”

“He has a small group he tries to hang around, but I don’t think they like him very much. And as of this week, they’ve been avoiding him completely.”

Damien makes a sympathetic noise from the back of his throat. “Poor dear. No wonder Lucien’s taken to him so. He struggled finding friends for the longest time when he was elementary school.”

Hugo nods. He vaguely remembers sixth-grade Lucien, wearing all black and a scowl. He always sat at the back of the class, never talking that much. It wasn’t that the kids didn’t like him, it was just that they never bothered talking to him. Not normal enough to be accepted, not weird enough to become a target.

The two finish their tea in silence, and Hugo rather appreciates that. He’s already spilled enough of his guts to a mere acquaintance for one night. He doesn’t need to embarrass himself further.

“Here come the boys.” Damien murmurs. He collects the teacups as Hugo straightens up.

Their voices drift downstairs.

“Yeah, but Duchess gets anxious when she has to sleep alone.” Ernest is saying.

“If you’re sure…” Lucien trails off.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Fine.” There’s a pause. “Now get out of here, you loser.”

Ernest’s response is too muffled to hear.

After that, it sounds like a push. Someone stumbles.

Lucien chuckles. “Get out of my sight, dumbass.”

Damien and Hugo busy themselves with cheese to pretend like they totally weren’t eavesdropping. Ernest pads down the stairs, alone. He starts at the sight of his dad and his footing wavers. Hugo bites his lip. Perhaps he shouldn’t have even come, if it only took him a few seconds to make things worse for Ernest.

“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Bloodmarch.” Hugo glances up. Ernest won’t stop scratching at his arm, a nervous tick he developed after he came down with the chicken pox at age six. But he came over at least. And to be polite, no less. It’s hard not to feel proud about something like that.

“Of course, Ernest. It was lovely to have you.”

He won’t look his dad in the eye. “I’m just gonna go home now.”

“That’s fine. Goodnight, son.”

Ernest doesn’t answer, doesn’t even make the usual disinterested grunt. The only real answer he gives is the sound of the front door closing behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i ship these dads


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> paul, you need to fucking chill

Friday was already off to a bad start.

In between the pop quiz, the homework, and his dad watching him like he’s a battered puppy, Ernest has had enough.

Which is exactly why his stomach drops at the sight of his dad waiting for him in the school parking lot.

“Dad?”

“Hey, kiddo.” Paul grins. “Thought I’d pick you up ASAP and get this weekend started, huh?”

“I…” Ernest trails off. He had no idea where he was going with that sentence. How would he go about verbalizing how fucking terrified he is to be around either one of his parents without starting another fight?

“Ernest, oh my God, hurry up!” Lucien calls. He makes a show of tapping his foot.

“Uh…that’s my friend. I gotta go.” He offers an awkward wave before dashing off. He doesn’t bother waiting for Paul’s response.

Lucien meets him halfway. “Was that your other dad?”

“Yeah…Thanks for the save.”

“Always.” Lucien glances over his shoulder, giving the man in the car a deliberate stare before concluding, “He looks like a fuck.”

“Hey, fuck off. He’s still my dad.” Ernest frowns as he ducks into Lucien’s car. He pretends not to see the way his dad is watching him as they drive by.

“Believe it or not, that doesn’t make a very compelling argument.” Lucien flashes a saccharine smile in response to Ernest’s scowl. “So you wanna hide at my place or what?”

“I’ve got homework.”

Lucien looks him over. Ernest is barely standing as is. He has dark shadows under his eyes. No doubt he slept horribly last night. Lucien wouldn’t be too keen on being around people either. As much as he wanted to be pissed, he couldn’t fault Ernest for that.

“Fair enough.” He lets the conversation drop until he pulls to a stop in front of Ernest’s house when a sudden idea strikes him. “Come here, you idiot.” Lucien grabs Ernest by the shoulder, pulling him closer to better kiss his forehead. “And wash your face for once, you dumb fuck.”

Ernest goes red all the way up to his ears. “If you do that again, I’ll kill you.”

“I would love to see you try.” Then, like that’s a _challenge_ , he pecks Ernest on the cheek. “Now get your dumb ass in bed and take a nap or something.”

Ernest flips him off, a gesture that he keeps up even as he backs into his front door.

“Oh, Ernest! You’re home already!”

Ernest freezes. Paul is grinning at him from the hallway. He skitters back. “Uh…” He glances back at the doorway. No messenger bag. “Where’s Hugo?”

“Sorry, kiddo, but I’m not in the mood for a lecture. Let’s try and get out of here before we find out, okay?”

He can’t be stuck in the middle of them. Not again. “Maybe we should, though?” Not that he cares about keeping Hugo in the loop, but it would serve to buy him time.

“Don’t tell me he’s gotten to you, too.”

“No…it’s just…” Would it be entirely wrong if he just bolted for him room and locked himself in? Honestly, the only reservation he had about doing it would be that he’d be locking Duchess out in the process.

“Come on, then!” Paul grabs Ernest by the wrist and leads him to the door. It’s clear he has no ill intentions, but he pulls just a little too hard.

“Ow!”

Duchess runs into the hall, attempting to block Paul’s path with her massive body. Judging by the raised hairs on the back of her neck, she won’t be participating in a peaceful protest much longer.

Ernest is so focused on her, on trying to keep calm, that he hadn’t even heard Hugo enter. “Paul. What are you doing?” Hugo’s voice has gone deathly quiet.

Paul must be scared, because he tightens his grip. Ernest sucks in a shallow breath. “I’m spending quality time with my son.”

“Well, there’s no need to go sneaking around behind my back. Almost makes me feel as if you’re hiding something.”

Fuck, fuck. This is exactly what Ernest wanted to avoid. Their argument quickly fades into a background noise when he finds the only thing he can concentrate on is the pain in his wrist. The more Paul gets worked up, the tighter his grip gets.

Numbness floods Ernest’s body. No matter how he tries to pull, his dad doesn’t let up. In fact, his grip only gets tighter, and it’s gone way past the point of being painful. His pulse pounds in his fingers.

Ernest wishes he could say something, anything. But his throat snapped shut the moment he lost feeling in his hand. He wishes he could move, too, but with the way his knees are shaking, he knows it’s unlikely. When Paul tightens his grip yet again, Ernest can’t help letting out an unbecoming yelp.

“ _Paul_.” Hugo grips his shoulder. It doesn’t look like much, but he fingers are trembling from the force he’s applying. “ _Let. Go._ ”

Paul glances back to Ernest, and from the shock in his eyes, he hadn’t realized what he was doing. He lets go, and Ernest moves back. He was hoping that his steps wouldn’t be too noticeable, but Paul immediately tries to shuffle closer.

Hugo stops him with a hand to his chest. “You need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving him alone with you.”

“It’s _his_ choice to make.”

“The _court_ said…”

“The court _says_ that teenagers can make their own decisions about whom they want to stay with.” Hugo then makes an overly-sassy turn to their son. “Ernest, do you want to spend the weekend with your father?” His voice is gentle, despite the glares he keeps shooting in Paul’s direction.

Ernest fumbles over himself for a second. There’s too much gunk in his brain for him to keep up with everything. His heart is still racing, even as he shakes his head.

Hugo inches a little closer in front of Ernest. Almost like a human shield. “There’s your answer.”

Paul locks his jaw, but Hugo cuts him off before he can speak.

“And if you really want to make this a fight,” Hugo says, his voice going deadly, “I can surely get an annulment of that court order based on the bruises alone. Don’t play this game with me, Paul.”

Something dangerous flashes in Paul’s eyes, but as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. “Fine.” Paul growls. He storms out. Ernest doesn’t realize how tense he’s been until he jumps at the sound of a slamming door.

“Come on, mijo.” Ernest starts. Hugo’s voice is exceedingly gentle, a tone Ernest hasn’t heard him use in years. “Let’s take a look at your arm.” He slips an arm around Ernest’s shoulders and gently guides him to the kitchen.

Ernest hops on the counter, knowing the drill by this point. A big, ugly bruise is forming around his wrist. Ernest winces at the sight of it.

“He’s always had a problem controlling his temper.” Hugo murmurs. There’s no anger in his voice, only exhaustion.

Ernest scratches at his arm. “Sorry I reacted weird.”

Hugo glances up, a confused frown on his face. “You reacted just fine.”

“But I didn’t fight back.” It definitely didn’t help that he just froze up and let Paul hurt him like that. It would’ve saved them both some trouble if he’d fought back in the slightest.

“And that’s fine. It was a natural response. You’ve never seen him like that before. You didn’t know if he’d turn on you next. Ernest, you did perfect.”

Ernest doesn’t answer. It doesn’t feel like it, but he doesn’t fight as Hugo runs a hand through his hair before moving over to the freezer.

“Um…” Ernest tucks his chin a little deeper into his hood. He isn’t quite sure how to word this, or even if it’s any of his business, but he suddenly has too many theories about his parents’ divorce.

“What is it?” The sound of ice cream containers and pizza roll bags being shoved aside almost overpowers Hugo’s voice.

But at least they don’t have to make eye contact for this. Ernest isn’t sure if he could say what he’s thinking if that were the case. “Did he…did Paul…ever…you know…hit you?”

Hugo closes the freezer door. There’s a spark of uncertainty in his eyes, and Ernest knows he’s asked the wrong question. It feels like a year before Hugo finally answers. “Of course not.” A small grin comes to Hugo’s face. “He knew I’d win.”

Ernest wants to laugh with him, but he can barely muster a smile. “But he wanted to?”

Hugo’s smile fades. “I can’t answer that for sure.” He takes Ernest’s hand and drapes his arm over the ice pack. “I’m sorry you had to see that side of him.”

Ernest goes quiet again, dropping his eyes to his arm. His gaze doesn’t stray far from his bruises.

Hugo gently massages his thumbs over Ernest’s forearm. He must press too hard, or Ernest is in more pain than he first thought, because Ernest winces and goes still.

There’s a momentary, primal flash of fear in Ernest’s eyes. It only lasts a second, but that’s all the time necessary to make Hugo feel like utter shit.

“It was…really fucking scary.” Ernest admits. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows down tears.

“Oh, Ernest.” Hugo scoops Ernest into a hug, and Ernest just _breaks_.

He throws his arms around his dad’s neck and clings for all it’s worth. He knows he’s acting like a baby, but he can’t help it. His sense of security has been so utterly fucked that he needs something, _anything_ to even feel the slightest bit safe. Paul was supposed to be on his side, to be the fun dad. And now he was nothing more than another person that evidently didn't care all that much about Ernest.

He’s being set on the couch. Hugo sits beside him, pulling Ernest right against his chest. “I know things are tough,” Hugo says. “Between your friends, Paul, and me, you aren’t having the easiest time right now. I’m sorry. But just know that I’ll always be here for you. Even if you just need to rant for a few hours. I’m more than willing to listen.” He combs his fingers through Ernest’s curls. “Or if you just need to sit and cry, that’s fine too.”

The TV flicks on, and Ernest glances up to see what’s playing. “Do you really have _Eat, Pray, Love_ DVRed?” he asks, his voice hitching.

“Well, I know it’s one of your favorites.”

“That’s awesome.” Ernest dissolves into sobs.

Ernest has himself cried out by the end of _Eat, Pray, Love_ , so that by the time _10 Things I Hate About You_ starts up, he’s crying because of the movie and not his own personal turmoil. He shuffles off to bed sometime in the middle of the third movie, which Hugo hadn’t recorded and didn’t recognize, but Ernest picked it out and seemed to be enjoying it.

Hugo doesn’t say anything, just goes about picking up the scattered magazines from early today.

Ernest needs his space.

**

It happens a little bit past midnight.

“Hugo…Dad? Are you awake?”

“Ernest?” Hugo sits up. He doesn’t bother fetching his glasses. Two blobs of color stand in his doorway.

Ernest shifts. “I couldn’t sleep. Is it okay if I…hang in here for the night?” His voice is strained, embarrassed.

“Of course.” Hugo rolls over.

Ernest climbs in first, then Duchess. She’s content to sleep at the foot of the bed, thank God, and she mostly sticks to Ernest’s side. And he still likes to curl up, so she has plenty of space.

Hugo swallows back his need to speak. There was only one reason Ernest would be coming in here, and if Hugo was being honest, that scared him half to death to see his son so…not okay. Like Ernest needed more emotional turmoil. Poor thing.

Not that he was going to bring it up. Ernest probably wouldn’t want to talk about it. Hugo wouldn’t push with it. “How are you holding up?” That was an innocent enough question.

“My arm hurts.”

“But it’s doing better?”

“A little.”

“That’s good.”

“Uh, yeah…” Ernest rolls onto his back to keep from making eye contact. “Do I…have to visit Paul on the weekends?”

Hugo props himself up on his elbow, his smile sad. “He really shook you up, didn’t he?”

“Whatever.” Ernest scoffs, and Hugo nearly gets caught sighing in relief that Ernest’s attitude wasn’t completely gone.

“If you don’t want to, I won’t make you. You’re fourteen. You can make your own decisions.”

“I don’t think I want to.” Ernest mumbles. His gaze grows faraway, and Hugo can practically see him replaying everything from earlier today in his mind’s eye.

“That’s okay. And if later, you think you might want to, that’s okay, too.”

Ernest rolls his eyes. “I _know_ that.”

“Just making sure.” Hugo can’t even force himself to be upset. He’ll take any sign that Ernest didn’t have the sass effectively scared out of him.

Ernest pauses. “I think Damien’s gonna be my new weekend dad.”

Hugo chuckles. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. He tries to hide it, but he really doesn’t like Paul. And Lucien’s basically already tried to adopt me into his family, like, twice now.” He pauses to scoff. “What a weirdo.” Ernest holds up his arm, squinting at it. It’s hard to see when the only light source is the dim lighting from the hallway, but he can get by. “Do you think Damien would kill a guy? Like, I think Robert would, but do you think Damien could get pushed to the point where he’d kill a guy?”

Hugo fondly rolls his eyes. “Get some rest. Goodnight, mijo.” He’s sure Ernest will squirm away or tell him to fuck off, but he leans in to press a kiss against Ernest’s forehead anyway. Much to his surprise, Ernest doesn’t move.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

**

Hugo comes to at about six, catching his alarm by only a few minutes.

He carefully extracts his foot from underneath Duchess, who had decided his leg made a great pillow a few hours prior, and stretches to the best of his ability.

Ernest stirs and mumbles something that sounds like “Dad,” his brow furrowed. Hugo can only imagine he’s not having a very good dream. He’s dead asleep, though. His face is mashed into his pillow, his curls flying out in every direction. Hugo takes a moment to brush the wayward hair from his face. It seems to soothe him, at least to a degree.

Ernest mumbles something else incoherent. It sounds like a statement.

“Is that so?” Hugo replies with a grin. He can’t help thinking back to the “conversations” he had with four-year-old Ernest while Ernest napped against his chest.

Ernest mumbles again, a confirmation of sorts, and settles, his face nuzzled deep into his pillow.

Hugo turns off his alarm before it has the chance to start screaming.

After yesterday, Ernest has well earned it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gay dads bonding over tea and scones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally got free time and i wrote this i'm so tired but i hope you like it
> 
> also though scones are fucking amazing

Hugo is… not doing so well.

Ernest is still sleeping like a log, even though it’s almost eleven-thirty, and Hugo has no idea what to distract himself with anymore.

He managed to get in a good twenty minutes of reading before his mind wandered, and at that point, he wasn’t even registering the words in front of him. At that point, it was mostly just a waste of time., and when pacing around his house got boring, it left him with his thoughts all over again.

Hugo leans against the wall. Paul… Why is he like this? How could he do that to poor Ernest? Was it that he’s only thinking of himself?

Hugo’s barely into the thought when the image of the day before flashes through his brain. Paul scowling, Ernest’s blank face while his wrist is in a death grip. If he hadn’t shown up when he did… if Paul hadn’t backed down…

Hugo wishes he didn’t have to think about it.

So that’s why he’s knocking on Damien’s door, if that’s any explanation.

It’s not, but he’ll be more than happy to be more logical after his heart rate slows down.

It’s a few minutes before the door creaks open. “Ah, good morning, Hugo.” Damien greets. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Severe emotional trauma.”

Damien’s recovery time is impeccable. While his eyes go wide, his expression quickly shifts into one of concern. “I see. Well, do come in. Lucien’s off with some friends, and I would appreciate some company. Where’s Ernest?”

“Still sleeping, last time I checked.”

“I see.” There’s an unspoken code between them. No kids. No chances for eavesdropping. No need to pretend like either of them has anything together. Damien gives a small, encouraging smile, a tiny gesture that puts Hugo at ease surprisingly quick.

“It’s been…” Hugo trails off with a sigh. “It’s been a night.”

Damien hums. He already has two teacups set out. “Ex-husband?”

Hugo nods. The exhaustion in his face must be obvious, because Damien’s face grows concerned.

“If you would rather not talk about it, that’s perfectly fine. It was rude of me to assume as much.” He heads for the fridge. “Would you care for some scones?”

“That sounds great, Damien.”

The microwave hums, filling the silence with its drone. Damien settles back into his seat next to Hugo, but he mostly lets his eyes wander, giving Hugo the chance to get himself back together. He doesn’t even realize he’s been jiggling his leg until he stops.

He laughs nervously. “I’m still a little terrified if I’m being honest.”

Damien’s brows knit together, his face soft and he leans in and touches Hugo’s hand. “Would you be comfortable telling me what happened? You’re under no obligation to, of course, it just seems that there’s a lot on your mind about now.”

Hugo nods. That’s why he came here after all. It’s the only place he can turn to. Nothing against the other dads in the neighborhood, but Damien’s the only one who knows about what’s going on with Ernest. “Paul. I just walked in and he was in my house.” There’s an obvious waver in his voice, one he can’t silence no matter how he tries. It’s a feeling he can’t stomp down. He’s not sure he could even do that. After all, who knows what Paul could’ve done, and _why_ hadn’t Hugo changed the locks yet?

Damien tightens his hold, giving Hugo’s hand a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, my friend. Believe me when I say I know how frightening of an experience that can be. You have every right to feel scared.”

He places his other hand over Hugo’s, and somehow, everything begins to feel a little less terrifying. “My ex-husband was the same way,” Damien continues. “He was always claiming he’d forgotten something new that he needed to pick up.” Damien quirks his mouth. “He always arrived just early enough that I wouldn’t be there, but just late enough to ensure I’d walk in to find him there.”

Hugo nods. Was it bad that he hadn’t known Damien was divorced? Well, he assumed as much, but he and the other cul-de-sac dads knew that was a subject better left avoided. Still, his heart goes out to Damien. He can’t imagine anyone else having to go through his.

The microwave beeps, and Damien retracts his touch. “Excuse me.” Once their backs are to one another, once they can avoid eye contact, Damien speaks up again. “I know it can be hard, especially with a child in between the two of you that cares for you both so deeply.”

Hugo sucks a breath in through his teeth. “Ernest isn’t too keen on his father right now. That’s… one of the reasons I’m freaking out.”

Damien sets a plate and a teacup in front of Hugo, making sure to touch his shoulder before sitting back down. “Would you care to talk about it?”

He thinks he might? He certainly can’t keep everything locked up inside, and there’s no way he’d dump his problems on Ernest. Why is it so hard for him to just put his trust in other people? As if he didn’t already know the answer, but…

“I don’t even know what was happening. I was just coming when I heard Ernest yell ‘ow’ and I come in to find Paul trying to pull him out the door.”

Damien’s eyes widen. “My word.”

“I…I almost couldn’t keep it together. But when he grabbed Ernest’s wrist…” Hugo trails off, resting his forehead in his hand. It takes him a long while before he can put himself together. “Ernest’s face just went blank. He looked so scared, and it made me so scared and angry. I was probably only a second away from punching him in the face.”

Damien nods. “I understand completely. Sometimes you lose all sense when you see your child in danger, no matter small.” His eyes drift to the floor. “At the risk of oversharing and not comforting you as intended, may I tell you something a tad embarrassing?”

“Go ahead.”

“I stabbed my ex-husband in the hand with a fork.”

Hugo can’t help guffawing. “ _What?_ ” He can’t quite picture calm, sweet Damien assaulting someone with any kitchenware, let alone a fork.

Damien chuckles. “What can I say? He was in one of his fits and got too close to Lucien and I…” Damien’s face goes red. “I grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be a fork. I guess what I’m saying is that there are worse things you can do than consider hitting someone.”

“You have a great point, but wow.”

“I know. It was terribly ungentlemanly of me, but what can I say? Lucien means the world to me.”

Hugo nods. To be totally honest, he probably would’ve done the same thing if he had a fork at the time. And while it might comfort Damien to tell him as much, he thinks it’s past the point of being appropriate to continue talking about assault with kitchen utensils.

“I’m, uh, thinking of calling in a favor from Robert,” he says finally. Was that a good segue? No. Did he know a better to segue into that? Also no.

Damien’s eyes go comically wide. “I had no idea Robert was willing to do such a thing.”

“You know, Ernest actually said the same thing? But no, it’s just that I know he has a strained relationship with his daughter and I thought he might be able to talk some sense into Paul before that point.”

“Would Ernest allow that?”

“Right now, definitely not, but I think that by the time I can talk Robert into doing it, Ernest might be ready to listen.”

“I see. Well, I think it’s very mature of you to try and see the best in Paul. The way you care for Ernest is quite commendable.”

Hugo blinks. Is the best dad in the cul-de-sac really paying him a compliment on his parenting? “Really?”

“Of course. I admire your bravery. I wish I could be that courageous with my ex-husband.”

“Still. Sometimes it’s better to just cut the toxic people out of your life. Wish I could do that.”

Damien hums. “You’re too kind, Hugo.” As he pauses to sip his tea, his eyes go to Hugo’s cup. “Did you enjoy the tea?”

“It’s been amazing.” Hugo answers, trying to ignore the fact that he hadn’t yet taken a sip. Not that the tea was bad, but he just hated that weird feel on the roof of his mouth when he drank something that was too hot. In an attempt to save face, he takes a drink. It’s somewhere between searing and comfortably warm, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

If Damien notices, he doesn’t comment on it. “Hugo, if I may?”

Hugo hadn’t realized how intently he’d been staring into his tea until he glances up.

Damien overlaps his hands on the table, drawing them in a little closer to his chest. “I just wanted to say that I’m grateful for you putting such confidence into me. It means a lot and I’ll try my best to honor that trust. That, and I’m glad we both have someone to talk through our problems with. Sometimes the house can get so lonely when Lucien’s out and about.”

Hugo breaks into a relieved grin. “Me too, Damien.”


	10. Chapter 10

When Hugo returns home, Ernest is up and about and going as far out of his way as possible to avoid making eye contact with Hugo.

Hugo can’t blame him. After that whole ordeal, Ernest’s pride must certainly be damaged. Really, the poor kid needs his space, and Hugo’s more than happy to give it to him.

A week goes by, then two.

Ernest keeps his head down during class, and Hugo doesn’t have the heart to call on him. He sits alone during lunch, though Lucien’s group of friends do occasionally catch him in the hallway. Lucien gives him a ride home almost every day. If Hugo weren’t a teacher, he’d never see Ernest.

The kid doesn’t come home until six or seven, and even then, he usually mumbles out something about already having eaten before disappearing into his room.

It’s all very concerning.

Damien, poor Damien, ends up bearing the brunt of Hugo’s anxieties. They’ve started doing afternoon tea on Saturdays and Sundays, since that’s the only afternoon time Hugo has free. However, whenever Hugo tries to bring any of his concerns up, Damien simply waves him off. “He’s having a hard time and needs his space. I recommend waiting until he comes to you.”

And Hugo knows that’s the right answer, but it doesn’t _feel_ that way.

He’s a dad; he’s supposed to have the answers to universe and fixes to everyone’s problems. Not having that makes it feel like he’s let Ernest down.

God, parenting is hard.

Hugo sets aside his book with a sigh. It’s so hard to focus. On _anything_ , really, aside from worrying. What a time to be caught up on grading.

Duchess whines. It’s become clear just how much she misses her person. She climbs up onto the couch, curling up in Ernest’s empty spot.

Not having the heart to scold her for getting up on the couch, Hugo sighs and leans forward to run a hand down her back. “Me too, girl.”

The more days wear on, the harder it is for Hugo to get a grip. It’s bad enough that Ernest is sad, but him feeling like he has to isolate himself and deal with everything alone?

It’s halfway into the second week when Hugo starts to seriously consider prompting Ernest to talk about whatever is bothering him.

Then he gets the text.

“Hey u wanna go with me to a horror movie this Friday? I’ll pay for gas and tickets.”

Hugo jumps at the chance. He gladly would’ve covered the cost of either himself just to have quality time with his son, but it made him proud of Ernest to be so responsible.

Of course, in the week leading up to that Friday, absolutely nothing changes. If anything, he’s seeing Ernest even _less_ than he was before. Ernest doesn’t get back until at least eight, and then he’s so tired that he ends up going straight to bed.

Hugo furrows his brow at Duchess, who probably would’ve followed her human to bed if Hugo wasn’t holding a burger.

“What’s going on with him, Duchess?” Hugo mutters.

Duchess responds by poking her nose against his plate.

“Nice try.” He polishes off the rest of his dinner, which has Duchess huffing and trudging away to Ernest’s room in a matter of seconds.

By the time that Friday rolls around, Hugo’s nearly made himself sick with worry. He’s gone through just about every terrible reason Ernest has been withdrawing—slipping grades? _drugs_?—and he could really use the reminder that things are okay.

Let’s ignore that Ernest is being just as quiet as he had been the past two weeks.

Hugo glances over. Ernest keeps fiddling with the tickets, pulling them out of his pocket to see if they’re still there, holding them in his hoodie pocket. While Hugo doesn’t understand it, he won’t ask about it. It’s clear that this must mean a lot to Ernest.

“So where’s the theater again?” Hugo asks.

Ernest lets go of the tickets long enough to check his phone. “Around this corner.”

The roads are absolutely bustling tonight, alive with activity. Most people aren’t driving well at all. In fact, if Hugo had the power, he’d revoke two-thirds of the licenses out here tonight. But since he doesn’t have that power, the most he can do is aggressively honk while observing proper use of his brakes and turn signals.

Hugo slams on the brakes as a car who has no idea what a turn signal is whizzes by. “Geez. Is it opening night?” He’s silently praying Ernest didn’t drag him to a midnight premiere. He can only imagine the kind of chaos created by a bunch of teenagers excited to see a movie. “Is this it?” From what little he can see of the parking lot, it’s totally packed.

“Yup.” Ernest hops out. His hands are back in his pockets, holding onto the tickets.

Man, this theater’s huge. It must not be local, then. And that would explain why they had to drive all the way out here. But man, is that theater big. It almost looks like a stadium… wait.

Holy shit.

“Sweet manchego…”

He knows this stadium. Not from recent memory, but he’s seen it on TV enough times to know exactly where he is. Ernest’s sheepish stare at the ground only confirms his suspicions.

Hugo grins so wide, his face already hurts. “Ernest, these tickets cost so much! How did you get the money to pay for them?”

“I’ve been working.” Ernest mumbles.

“You got a job?” So that’s where he’d been.

“Kinda.” Ernest scratches at his hands. “Damien’s been paying me to help him take care of his garden, and a couple of Lucien’s friends hooked me up with other side jobs.” Ernest shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been an asshole to you. About everything. And I guess I wanted to say I was sorry or something. I thought this would be good since I always make fun of you for it.” He lowers his head, hiding his face in his shoulder. “It was shitty of me to take Dad’s spot as the family shit-starter.”

“Ernest…” Tears prick the corners of Hugo’s eyes.

“Dad, we’re in public.”

“I LOVE MY SON!” Hugo announces to passersby and he grabs Ernest in a gigantic bear hug.

Ernest says something, probably along the lines of “Dad, you’re crushing me,” but all that comes out is “Dad” followed by a string of noises to strangled to really discern.

When Hugo finally drops Ernest, he’s gasping for breath. Hugo’s smile is miles wide. “Ernest, thank you so much. This is such a wonderful gift.” He pulls Ernest in for another, much gentler hug.

Ernest doesn’t pull away. “It’s no big deal or anything…”

“Oh, Ernest, it is a big deal. This is such an amazing gift; I barely even know what to say. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Dad.” When Hugo lets go, he ducks his head and stuffs his hands back in his pockets. “We should get inside.”

The place is flooded. Small children chase each other around the floor, their parents either trying to catch them or watching from afar. Teenagers cloister together and chat over cell phones. A pair of old women are chuckling with one another, each sporting a Corporate Shill t-shirt. Hugo’s never felt happier.

He and Ernest are in the nosebleeds, but at least they’re not in the absolute back row. Hugo remembers his dad getting beaned on the head on the low-hanging poles back there more than once.

This is so perfect.

Hugo can’t stop beaming, even as they take their seats. There are so many people here. It’s such a full experience, so much fuller than watching from his living room.

Hugo’s heart leaps when the lights dim and the announcer’s voice tears through the arena. There’s an awesome roster tonight, but the Eastern Dragon isn’t going on until later. That doesn’t mean he isn’t excited as hell for everything.

The announcer repeats himself. “I SAID ‘ARE YOU READY?’”

The crowd erupts, bolting to their collective feet.

“Are you kidding me?” Ernest grumbles.

Hugo glances down to see Ernest stuck behind a wall of people too tall for their own good. Granted, Ernest hasn’t exactly hit his growth spurt yet, but most of those guys are at least six feet tall.

The Corporate Shill is already setting up charts to better demonstrate the exponential increase of the Orchestrator’s lameness over time, so he acts on his first instinct. “Come here, mijo!”

Ernest lets out a noise of surprise as his father effortlessly scoops him up by his armpits and plops Ernest on his massive shoulders. He can already hear some grumbles from behind them, but it only serves to make Ernest laugh. He folds his arms and rests his chin on top of Hugo’s head.

“Ah, there you are!”

Hugo turns. “Damien?”

Damien grins. He’s sporting his casual look—his hair pulled back into a ponytail and his glasses on, but the shirt is new. He’s wearing a Generation Y2K shirt, with a meme that Hugo can only guess is a minimum of three months out of date. Lucien stands behind him, more interested in his phone that whatever is going on around him.

“What are you doing here?”

Damien takes his seat beside Hugo, and Lucien takes Ernest’s spot. There’s barely a moment’s pause before the two of them start bickering. Hugo tries his best to block them out. “Well, Ernest made the whole affair seem so lovely, and I do so love hearing of other’s passions.”

Hugo nods. “I like your shirt.” While Generation Y2K isn’t his favorite competitor, he can appreciate the value of having such a character, especially as a foil to someone like Old Timer or the Corporate Shill, in the wrestling narrative.

“And I yours.” Damien chuckles. “Lucien looked like he was in pain the entire time I was purchasing it, but I quite like it!”

“Blue suits you.” Hugo smiles, but the screams of the crowd tear his attention back to the ring.

The Conductor cut the announcer off mid-intro by hitting both him and the Corporate Shill with sheet music, and now he’s proceeding to beat the Corporate Shill in the face with his conductor’s wand.

Hugo loses himself in the match, but occasionally, the sounds of Lucien and Ernest bickering comes to his ears.

“Who let you out, gremlin?”

“You wanna fight?”

“Why don’t you get down from your dad’s shoulders first?”

“Yeah? Well, my dad could beat up your dad. Think about that.” He sucks in a breath, like he’s about to say something more, but then Corporate Shill smacks the Conductor in the face with his briefcase and suddenly nothing else matters.

The Conductor ends up winning and taking his bows on the ropes, where the majority of the crowd boos him. Hugo cheers, if only because the Corporate Shill is symbolic of a broken capitalist society and he may or may not be extremely stressed about bills right now. The lights briefly come up, and Ernest and Lucien continue to bicker, even as Ernest crawls down from Hugo’s shoulders and the two of them saunter off to get snacks.

A hand touches Hugo’s arm. Damien grins. “How are you enjoying your night?”

Hugo eyes him. “You knew about this the entire time, didn’t you?”

Even Damien’s charming smile couldn’t distract from the guilty blush going all the way up to his ears. “I never lied. I was merely concealing all the information I was privy to. And Ernest asked me to keep it as a surprise.”

“Well, I’m definitely surprised.” Hugo admits.

“I’ll admit that I may have overpaid him a tad, but he really is a joy to have working in my garden.” A smile comes to his face, the kind so bright that it lights up his eyes. “And if he’s out back, it’s practically guaranteed Lucien will come out of his room and join us. It’s been… a lovely change.”

“And this was all his idea?”

“All his.” Damien confirms.

The two of them turn. Lucien and Ernest are back with a serving of nachos, which Lucien is currently holding above Ernest’s head and laughing when he can’t reach it. Ernest then responds by driving his shin. Lucien dodges, and Ernest takes the chance to swipe the nachos and run.

“They’re good for each other.”

Damien’s hand touches his arm. His long, slender fingers come to rest on Hugo’s bicep, and he bites his lip as he speaks. “I rather think the same thing of us.”

Hugo’s face blazes. “Oh.” Alright, so taking that into account, intimate touch was not just a Victorian thing. Good to know. It also makes the next words out of his mouth a lot easier. “Well, forgive my forwardness, but would you like join me for wine and cheese at trivia night next week?”

Damien takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’d very much like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody! Thanks for reading my fic! <3
> 
> And just so you know, I do plan on making a series out of this verse, I just have no idea what I would name it atm. Peace!

**Author's Note:**

> drop by my tumblr if you want:
> 
> president-homewrecker.tumblr.com


End file.
